Kate
by yas-m
Summary: Kate likes the way Jack says her name.


Ok, I am so sorry for not updating my other fics for so long. For some reason, I think 2011 hs decided to spend the first few weeks kicking the crap out of Yas. I will update soon, I promise.

Here's a little one shot I wrote today. Hope you like it.

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**Kate**

She notices that he very rarely uses pet names. It is not him to call her sweetheart, baby or darling. It might escape his lips once in a while, but when it does, it sounds foreign, and they both shake their heads at the way it leaves his lips and lands on her ears with a strange resonance.

She also notices that she prefers it this way. She notices that she loves the way her name sounds in his lips, and that he has a different version of it, each one stirring a different feeling inside of her.

There is the hushed, whispered version. The one she first heard in the cock pit, during the first hike to retrieve the transceiver, just as the smoke monster started to rumble in the nearby jungle. She remembers how the air had suddenly turned heavy, dark and menacing. Her first instinct was to run, like it had always been. But then she heard it, her name whispered just for her to hear, for her to follow the source, and despite the sounds that were coming closer and closer in the surrounding jungle, she heard it clearly. Her name called out in confidence, laced with a promise to keep her safe. And he did, until his last breath, everything he did was to keep her safe.

There is also the tired, exasperated version. When they argue relentlessly, not too stubborn to give up their stand. They would be trekking through the jungle, arguing over the next course of action, both tired, sweating and out of breath. He would finally stop walking, keep his back turned to her and he would let out a long breath. His palm would come back to rub his cropped hair, down to his neck and he would finally say her name, his tone tired of fighting, tired of arguing, tired of being thrust in the role of the leader, the one who needs to take the hard choices. He would finally turn to face her, engage each other in a stubborn stare, until one of them finally breaks. Usually it would be her, because when she hears him say her name like that, she knows she had done nothing more than make all this harder for him. She knows that she does not agree with his choice, but she also knows that he is not making his decision based on the opinion of one, unlike her he does not have the privilege of thinking of himself, that he thinks of the other forty before he thinks about himself. When he says her name like that, tired, hopeless and pleading with her to just have his back on this, all her selfish thoughts disappear, and all that matters is making this easier for him.

One of her favorite version is the shy, sweet one, the one he uses when he introduces her to people, his mother, people at work, his grandfather. She knows he tries to hide it, but there is a joyful sweetness in how he says it then, an air of pride, and he ducks his head, a smile creeping on his lips, sitting there for a moment before he can say thing else. It makes her blush, makes her feel special, wanted. When he says it like that, a glowing warmth wraps around her, one that makes her forget everything else, becoming only aware of of his hand holding hers, his arm wrapped around her waist and the unconditional love that she feels in every bone in her body for the man at her side, who blushes when she gets on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Another of her favorites is the one that only she gets to hear, the one only her ears have the privilege to enjoy, when he is lying on top of her, their bodies shining with a lyre of sweat, their breathing labored and her name escapes his lips with lust, want and desire. It comes out choking with passion. His head is dropped on her shoulder, his body shaking, panting, and his voice drowns in her skin. And she holds on to him, her finger gently caressing his back, calming him as he comes down back to her, their breathing slowly steadying, and all she can hear is the echo of his voice, saying her name.

There is one version that she hates, a version that scares her. Her own name, scaring her as it escapes his lips. With his eyes shut, his body shaking, his brow wrinkled, and he screams out her name in his sleep as the nightmares ravage his sleep. She never hears his voice laced with such fear and desperation as when he cries her name in one of his nightmares. He wakes up, shaking, tears streaming down his face searching for her, crying for her. She caresses his face, assures him that she is there, that he is safe, that it was only his imagination playing tricks on him. He pulls her against him tightly, so tight sometime it hurts, but she lets him. Until his breathing is stable again, until his biddy stops shaking and the tears have dried. He falls back asleep, with his arms still wrapped around her. She never asks what the nightmares are about, and he says very little. But when she does try to understand what he saw, to help him calm down, he just shakes his head, his hand finding her face in the dark, and he just says, "it does not matter. You're here now."


End file.
